


To lay claim to you

by doomed_spectacles



Series: If I could love like anybody else [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fireplaces, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21694747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: After Heaven strips Aziraphale of his celestial title, Crowley reminds him of all the titles he's held on Earth.Or,Aziraphale is found by a dog named Barnabus, exactly when he was in need of a dog named Barnabus.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: If I could love like anybody else [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504748
Comments: 17
Kudos: 144





	To lay claim to you

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of the Ineffable Inktober prompts ("husky").
> 
> UPDATE:
> 
> This story now has a continuation, located [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881923). The continued adventures of Aziraphale and Barnabus! (Crowley is there, too.)

[2028]

They had been in the cottage for almost two years when the note came. Aziraphale placed the pristine white envelope with gold foil trim on top of the rest of the post and deposited it on the counter. He stared at it for a long time. His name was written in intricate gold letters on the front of the envelope. There was no return address. No postage. No doubt about its origin.

"Are you going to open it?" Crowley asked, circling behind him. He made a full lap around the kitchen before Aziraphale acknowledged his presence.

He sighed. "I suppose there's no use in dithering." A letter opener appeared in his hand and he slid it under the gold seal carefully. Inside was a simple sheet of paper, folded once. It was lettered in plain type, memo-style, fully justified. When he'd finished reading, Aziraphale passed the paper to Crowley.

"Oh," Crowley said.

"Indeed. I suppose it was bound to happen. They got the paperwork done in under a decade, fancy that. Nothing to be done," he replied, his voice neutral.

"Angel-"

"It's okay, Crowley. I've been stripped of my titles and ranking, but they never meant a great deal to me anyhow." Aziraphale turned away, knowing his face would show Crowley absolutely everything. "Principality no more. And there's no gate to guard, hasn't been for an age."

"Angel-"

"I'm going to go for a walk," he said, practically running out the door. He didn't take his hat, coat or walking stick, which hung on a rack next to the door. He'd already walked the downs early that morning while Crowley slept. He didn't usually ramble twice in a day.

"Aziraphale! Angel!" Crowley called after him.

Aziraphale didn't stop or turn around. "I have to go for a walk," he said, into the wind. He strode past the front gate and the mailbox. Crowley had spray-painted their initials and the house number on it several weeks after they moved in. The "A" had a halo above it and the "C" had horns. Aziraphale had called it tacky, because it was. He hadn't made Crowley remove it. Aziraphale turned and walked along the road, heading toward the downs.

Crowley followed him to the gate and watched his back receding into the landscape. He didn't turn back. Eventually, Crowley went back inside. He switched on the light outside the front door, though it was barely turning twilight.

When he returned, Aziraphale was followed by a large white dog. It had long fluffy fur that shone in the dusky evening. His eyes were mismatched, one brown and one blue. Aziraphale opened the heavy wooden gate and the dog trotted up to the front door, then walked in the cottage and sniffed.

"This is Barnabus," Aziraphale said, though Crowley hadn't asked. "Oh, also I'm back."

"I see that," Crowley said from his place on the couch. He set his glass down on the side table.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and two stainless steel bowls appeared next to the kitchen island. He thought for a moment, then a tartan-patterned mat appeared underneath them. Barnabus trotted over to the water bowl and slurped happily. Aziraphale poured himself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the counter. He looked wild, as if he hadn't completely come back in from the cold. Crowley eyed him carefully over the back of the couch.

"I came across Barnabus on my route," he said. "I've walked that route through the downs every day for nearly two years. This time I saw a large white dog. It was as if he was waiting for me. He knew me. He told me his name."

Crowley stayed silent.

"We looked at each other for a long while. He wasn't afraid and neither was I. Then he simply walked home with me." Aziraphale finally looked at Crowley and the dog, who'd settled on the rug in front of the fire. He'd ignored the demon entirely.

"Angel, come sit down," Crowley said.

Aziraphale drained his glass and sat down next to Crowley on the couch. He put his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead. "I didn't expect it to feel like this," he said quietly. "To know they no longer claim me as their own." 

He couldn't help the spasm of pain that crossed his face. 

"It hurts." Aziraphale looked out the window at the sky, now nearly black. Crowley had lit a fire in their large brick fireplace, or perhaps had miracled one into being. It roared behind the grate, making wooshing and popping sounds. Barnabus watched it, but appeared unconcerned. The orange light made his fur glow and Aziraphale noticed patches of tan and brown on his ears, face and chest. He wasn't pure white after all.

"I know." Crowley carefully set a hand on Aziraphale's back and didn't move it. The touch seemed to ground him and after a moment, he looked back at Crowley, stricken.

"I shouldn't have- oh Crowley, of course you understand, out of all people, you would- it was just a title, I didn't fa-"

Crowley shook his head. "Comparing miseries just makes both parties even more miserable, angel," he said gently.

"I'm sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale said, almost whispering.

Crowley gathered him in his arms and they sat, watching the fire silently. The giant dog at their feet sighed and rolled onto its side, warming its belly by the fire. Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale's shoulder and inhaled deeply.

"I'll tell you this, though," he said. "They may not claim you anymore, but I do." He continued looking at the fire in the hearth, his chin nestled on Aziraphale's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was careful and low and full of fondness. "Mr. Fell, sole proprietor of A.Z. Fell & Company."

Aziraphale shifted in his arms but didn't look at him. He breathed out slowly.

"Owner of the worst bookshop in the history of London bookshops, as ranked by sales. And Yelp."

At that Aziraphale turned to face him and sputtered. "Worst? Really, now," he said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, daring him to disagree. He didn't. Crowley tightened his arms around Aziraphale. "Mr. Fell, long-term member of the now-defunct but then-infamous Hundred Guineas Club in Portland Place."

Aziraphale's eyes grew wide. "You-"

"Oh? You think I didn't know about that just because I was sleeping? Mmmhmm," Crowley said, smirking. Aziraphale gave him a chastising look, one that had been ineffective at chastising him for a good seven centuries.

"The Amazing-" Crowley cleared his throat and struggled with the word _amazing_. "Mr. Fell- the worst magician in the whole of the British Isles, possibly all of Europe."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you're failing miserably," Aziraphale said, trying to hide a smile.

Crowley kissed the spot right behind his ear and whispered, "Brother Francis." Aziraphale shivered and Crowley kissed the same spot again for good measure. "Worst gardener I've ever met."

"I'll grant you that one," Aziraphale said. He was smiling now and not trying to hide it.

"Co-godfather of the antichrist." Crowley kissed his earlobe, then lightly bit down, teasing.

"Mmm," Aziraphale said, his neck and face flushed.

Crowley kissed the line of his jaw. Gentle, barely there kisses. "Mr. A. Z. Fell," he whispered. "One-half owner on the deed of the cottage listed at 1 Angel St, Petworth. Well-known local rambler. And apparently," Crowley said, looking down at the large dog sleeping soundly on the rug at their feet, "keeper of a large dog."

"I told you, his name is Barnabus."

"Mmmm." Crowley turned Aziraphale's face and kissed him gently. Their lips slid together, soft and unhurried. There would be thousands more kisses like this one, before thousands more fires in their hearth.

Crowley pulled back. He ran his thumb lightly over Aziraphale's bottom lip.

"Aziraphale," he said, kissing him again.

"Angel."

Another kiss.

"I claim you."

They kissed for some time, until the light of the fire had died down and neither cared enough to stoke it.

**Author's Note:**

> 1- Angel St, Petworth is a real address in the general area of the South Downs and at that address is ... wait for it ... seriously, I'm not kidding ... The Angel Inn.  
> 2- I've been reading a lot of Sandman lately, hence Barnabus. Aziraphale's mystery dog companion comes to him when he is needed, like all the best dogs do. He looks like [this](https://www.allthingsdogs.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/White-Husky-Dog.jpg).
> 
> I'm on Tumblr also if you'd like to say hi.


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